


the strange impatience of the heavens

by shinobi93



Category: Julius Caesar - Shakespeare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Canonical Character Death, Gratuitous Star Wars References, M/M, Saturnalia 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 20:15:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2786249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinobi93/pseuds/shinobi93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The empire of Rome stretches across the galaxy and the question of who to govern it is no simple one. Two men lead a rebellion amongst the stars.</p><p>Julius Caesar. In space.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the strange impatience of the heavens

**Author's Note:**

> Written for danishprince on tumblr as part of the Saturnalia 2014 gift exchange.
> 
> The prompt was a Julius Caesar space AU. I inevitably went down the road of a Star Wars inspired rewrite, though it doesn't require knowledge of Star Wars (my very obvious homage may be clear even if you're not into the films). It is only a dip into the universe due to time constraints, but I've wanted to write a space Julius Caesar for so long.
> 
> I follow canon so there is an expected level of death, though none graphic and mostly only mentioned in passing. Otherwise, I don't think there's any warnings needed.

‘This planet deserves better. The _galaxy_ deserves better.’

Brutus and Cassius stand in a corridor of the High Palace of Rome, the main planet in an empire stretching far across the stars, or so the holographic news and information system likes to remind everyone. The cold marble splendour of the huge building is meant to be a testament to this power. That there is no single ruler to inhabit the palace does not matter: the building is the colossus. Or so it is meant to be. The corridor is otherwise deserted, a fact Brutus is grateful for considering the way the conversation has turned.

‘It deserves you. We deserve you.’

‘Cassius, I don’t know if I-’

‘What’s Caesar got that you haven’t? You can fly a fighter ship as well. You can plan strategy and talk convincingly and lead a group in peace or war.’

‘Cassius-’

‘You’re serious but friendly, you’re clever, and you don’t have Mark Antony yapping around your boots whenever he’s not in some spaceport bar, arguing with smugglers over the price of hyperbeer. You’ve got it all, but you’re not ambitious like him. That’s what Rome needs, what the empire needs. Not some power-crazy ex-pilot who still goes on about the time he flew through the chasms of the Rubicon asteroid belt.’

‘I’m not sure if you’ve got that quite-’

‘Brutus. Listen. The people will support you. He’s a giant bestriding two planets, laughing at anyone who tries to zip past him in one of those new little racer pods. His ambition stretches to the icy depths of Hoth and back. Someone’s got to stop him.’

‘Me?’

Cassius puts a hand on his arm.

‘Us.’

 

-

 

The daggers may be the newest in laser technology, but the blood still flows out of Caesar’s body the same as it gushed out of people hundreds and hundreds of years previously. Brutus watches the bloodbath unfold, red spilling onto the cold metallic floor of the Forum, and waits until it is his turn. He will strike last, as they planned. Finally, after the frenzy, Caesar staggers forward. He gapes at Brutus, still with a little disbelief in his eyes, before the look turns to resignation. Brutus steps towards him.

‘Et tu Brute?’ Brutus pulls back his hand, starts the motion forwards. ‘Then fall Caesar.’

And so Caesar falls.

 

-

 

‘Antony won’t use the holographic screen,’ Cassius whispers urgently to Brutus. ‘He’ll talk to them properly, face to face, and they’ll listen to him, too.’

‘No, it’s fine, I’ll speak to them first.’ At Cassius’ continued worried look, he adds, ‘In person. No projections. Just me.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes,’ says Brutus determinedly.

‘Then I’ll do the same, to another group of them. People are used to messages being widespread these days. If we’re doing this without holographs or videos, we’d better share it quickly, before they start to believe whatever their imaginations can conjure up.’

‘You think we can convince them?’

Brutus, so certain a second ago, looks to Cassius for reassurance. For the assurance that got them there in the first place. That belief in Brutus over all else.

‘Of course. The galaxy won’t see a better revolution.’

 

-

 

‘They’re coming for us.’

Brutus speaks in a matter of fact tone, devoid of emotion. They had considered this, but not well enough: they have forces, allies, and ships, but no concrete battle plans. Lucius, the young student assigned as his apprentice, looks up at him. There is no time. Helmets on. Boots strapped down. Time to fly.

They are gone in a flash of light, before Brutus can say goodbye to his fighter pilot wife Portia. She has been angry at him for not sharing his rebellion plans with her, because he justified it to himself that it would keep both her and his plans safe, though this will not be the case. He forgets who his wife is. Portia, a skilled solo pilot with a renowned father, has always said she would go out in a blaze of glory; driven too far by the failing rebellion and without anybody to turn to, she will do just that, a swan dive of a loop in her trusty fighter ship that knocks out the power supply of a chunk of Antony’s forces, but takes her with it.

Brutus leads his forces to a small planet not far from Rome. Strategically, it says that they are going to fight, but not quite yet. The battleground is not yet chosen. They build a camp, all the latest in tent technology and shield barriers. He hears reports from his generals that Cassius is using money for troops in shady spaceports on the way, but doesn’t know what to believe. It is Cassius, after all; Brutus would die for him, loves him dearly, but still, he cannot accept such behaviour.

‘Is Cassius here yet?’ Brutus asks Lucius for the millionth time. He sends Lucius out to pick up news from the communicators, rather than go himself and show his worry. The report of Portia’s death came only a few days ago, though Brutus knows the importance, in this time of war, of keeping a steely reaction to pain. There is too much to be done.

‘He is logged as arriving very soon,’ Lucius says, relieved to finally have a different response. ‘His fleet is with him.’

‘Bring him to me when he does,’ commands Brutus. He needs to see Cassius. Someone so important can’t be wasting money and time. The rebellion has to win. The empire cannot.

 

-

 

‘Why so angry?’ asks Cassius. The furrows on Brutus’ brow betray his emotion, though very few could tell. Cassius can. He knows something is wrong.

‘Where have you been?’

Nearby, pilots and apprentices alike try to look away. It is clear this is too intimate: these two generals know each other too well to argue any other way.

‘Making my way to our agreed base, same as you did.’

‘And on the way?’ Cassius steps closer to respond.

‘What are you saying?’

Brutus looks around and shakes his head.

‘Not here. Let’s go to my tent.’ His voice suddenly changes. ‘Lucius, take any messages for me, or holograph calls. We’ll be back soon.’

He leads Cassius away in silence. Miles of unspoken hurt runs between them, though as yet unvoiced: Cassius want to know what he’s done wrong to make Brutus mistrust him, Brutus wants to know why Cassius would betray him like this. Neither are thinking clearly. It is as if the whole galaxy is at stake. It almost is.

 

-

 

‘How could you do it? Waste money with those rogues and dealers, squandering time that could be used to win? How could you betray the rebellion like this? After all you’ve said and done, all you encouraged me, after everything?’ 

Brutus speaks sharply, louder than usual. One hand is wrapped around the top of a chair, to steady himself and his nerves. Cassius responds far louder.

‘What the fuck do you mean?’

His bluntness causes Brutus to pause, but he can’t go back now. A habit he’s picked up from Cassius.

‘You know what you’ve done. Where have you been? Wasting money, wasting time. We can’t afford it! Antony has the imperial troops, the forces of that little Octavius, and the whole holographic news system on his side. We have the better conviction, but we can’t let up or he’ll win!’

Brutus’ voice is too high now, too desperate. The sound grates on Cassius’ nerves: Brutus is meant to stand firm. He doesn’t see that this has become too personal. He steps closer to Brutus.

‘I’ve done nothing wrong! I was looking for support as I came: you know the people in those bars don’t trust the empire. I’ve been a pilot longer than you, I know what to do. The question is, what’s wrong with you? Lost your nerve?’

Brutus looks away from him, at the shiny walls of the nano-tent.

‘Portia is dead.’

‘Oh.’ Cassius doesn’t know what else to say. ‘For the cause?’

Brutus turns back and looks at him. ‘Of course.’ His voice is softer, though not without the anger that he had moments previously. ‘She was flying alone, a solo mission to hinder Antony’s progress. It didn’t work out.’

There is a pause, an unplanned moment of silence for Portia.

‘I’m too defensive,’ mutters Cassius.

‘I should know not to attack you. I should know that you’re not trying to harm our chances.’

‘I should’ve known something was wrong. You don’t get angry like that. That’s me.’

‘It’s not just Portia. It’s everything.’ Cassius looks at him in concern. ‘We have so much to do. A galactic empire is no small thing. The vast spaces involved, it’s…massive. We can hope, we can beg the stars to align right for us, but how can we know?’

Cassius takes his hand without thinking.

‘We can’t. We just have to put on our helmets and fight.’

‘I feel like Caesar is watching me, all the time. Waiting for failure. Everyone is watching. Everything is the fight now, but what if that isn’t enough?’

‘I’m sorry.’ Cassius has no other reassurance to offer.

‘We won’t do this again.’ It sounds like vaguely ominous, so Brutus has to add, ‘I will trust in you next time.’

Cassius takes his other hand and is about to speak when suddenly there is yelling from outside. People seem to be arguing. ‘We’ll ask them,’ he hears someone shout; it sounds like Titinius. There is no time.

‘I love you,’ he says, quickly, quietly, earnestly. Brutus looks straight at him, as if into his mind.

‘I know.’

They drop hands and prepare to be generals once more. They will never fall out again.

 

-

 

Inside the fighter ships, there is a claustrophobic sense that nobody else knows you’re there, out in the vastness of space. The communications radios are therefore always full of sounds, of battle plans and orders and general reassurance that everyone is part of a team, an army. The asteroid belt of Philippi has ended up as the main battleground: the fighting is full of weaving and ducking and confusion. Still, it suits neither side, though Antony’s forces have claimed a huge asteroid as their base and made things considerably easier from themselves to report back to Octavius, who has stationed himself there.

The fighting starts as small skirmishes. It is the result of a holographic discussion between the generals on both sides, though ‘discussion’ is perhaps a generous term. Insults were thrown, mostly about Antony’s tendency towards drinking and celebration and Brutus and Cassius’ lack of honour, and war was all but declared. Soon each army is mobilised, all fighter ships prepared. Pilots focusing on whatever they believe in, to give them strength and luck. Asking their preferred stars for guidance. The fight is no longer about who can convince the masses. It has taken to the skies.

 

-

 

‘Your helmet, sir.’

Lucius hands Brutus his headgear and scurries off to make other final preparations. It is time for the push, the coordinated attack, generals leading their squadrons. They are waiting on an asteroid on the edge of the belt, a fair distance from Antony’s base. That distance will be closed. An oxygen bubble shield stretches overhead, so that the forces can prepare without the need for always wearing their helmets. People are talking and laughing, taking advance of this freedom. Brutus knows he should go over to see Cassius, but it will be far too final. Still, he must show his fortitude. A general cannot betray his emotions.

‘Brutus!’ Cassius has come to him. ‘Are you excited? It’s time to show them what a rebellion is.’

Brutus laughs, slightly hysterically. Typical Cassius, he thinks, with just the priorities to expect of him. Helmet also in hand, he bounds over to Brutus and stands right in front of him.

‘And if we don’t show them?’

Cassius is close enough that Brutus can see the mania in his eyes. ‘We’ll die trying.’

‘So we may never see each other again,’ Brutus can’t help but state.

‘We’ll have to say goodbye, then.’

‘The stars can attest, we couldn’t have done it without each other.’

‘We don’t need the stars to attest it. We can ourselves. We’re a team, and if we never see each other again, then we’ll have said goodbye.’

Cassius holds out a hand. Brutus isn’t sure whether to shake it or hold it. He opts for the latter, because you only get to do this once. Words cling to his throat, not wanting to leave. A dusty, cold asteroid is no place for this, he thinks. He feels Cassius’ skinny hand beneath his.

‘This parting was well made.’

‘Goodbye, Brutus.’

‘Goodbye, Cassius. May the stars remember us.’

‘May they act our story on the holographic screen for millennia to come.’

Cassius pauses, then leans in and kisses him. Only quickly, but it is a shadow of what could have been. If only there was more time. Cassius drops his hand and starts to move away.

‘Cassius,’ Brutus calls out, then lowers his voice. ‘I love you.’

Cassius smirks.

‘I know.’

 

-

 

The battle ends; the rebellion is over. Surrendered soldiers and floating debris is all that is left. Octavius is triumphant, flying low over Rome in pride. Many look up in uncertainty and fear. They have not chosen any of these sudden changes and they don’t know what to expect next. Other planets and star systems wait to hear what will come next from that empire across the stars, the Roman empire. Soon the holographic news will be painting the battle in the way Mark Antony wishes it to be.

Antony himself steps out of his fighter ship, onto the asteroid where Brutus crashed rather than be taken as prisoner. Shards of metal are scattered across the surface. It is silent as the grave. Mark Antony stands for a few minutes, staring.

‘You didn’t have to die. Or maybe you did. Maybe that’s how the story had to go.’ He turns back towards his ship. ‘The honourable men. Too honourable to beat me.’


End file.
